


A Kind of Blissful Insanity

by HerWingsofGlass



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Universe, F/F, First Meetings, Lesbian Character, Meet-Cute, Shopping, smirks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerWingsofGlass/pseuds/HerWingsofGlass
Summary: ONE-SHOT: Carol and Therese meet for the first time as Carol does a little last-minute Christmas shopping. Written from Carol's POV.





	A Kind of Blissful Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All the dialogue in this particular scene is from the film _Carol_. I did not come up with it.

Carol tapped the flat of her forefinger absently against her leather gloves as she lingered by the elevators. Her eyes wandered about the department store, sweeping its vast expanse to take in the many moving shapes, the panoply of bustling bodies and colors and sounds. The room was teeming with frantic women dragging along fussy children, leaving in their wake a cloud of heavy floral perfume and loud, bellowing cries. Gay décor accented the sales floor in a vague attempt to inject the space with some semblance of spirit. Garlands were strung along hanging cases and wrapped around columns. A tree or two stood in the corners. Dotted here and there behind the counters stood shop girls, their faces plastered with smiles that barely covered the exhaustion of the store’s chaotic tempo. Each girl wore a red Santa hat plopped atop her head as she rushed around to answer questions and find items. They all looked so slight and scripted. A little like the dolls they worked so hard to sell. Forced into being one of the decorations, no doubt. Carol sighed and loosened her scarf from around her neck until it hung limply. She caught the eye of one of the shop girls. Did she enjoy her job?, Carol wondered. It was unlikely. The room was warm and stuffy. Every now and again, the air was cut through with a sharp peal from one of the automated dolls, a recorded whistle from the display trains, and tinny music cranked out of wind-up toy soldiers. But. She needed to remember why she was here. Christmas presents for Rindy. Right.

She cleared her throat, steeled her nerves, and walked into the fray.

Shopping was always such an ordeal. 

As she passed the long lines of glass display cases, she searched among the endless variations of dolls. There were models upon models—and outfits and carriages and accessories to match each one. Rindy had come home the other night asking after a certain kind—oh, what was it? It did some mechanical trick, something that had stunned her. The things they invented these days. She had the name written down anyway. 

Carol scanned the line of dolls laid out as if they were sleeping. However were you supposed to tell what _kind_ they were, all tucked away like that? She should ask someone. A man in a heavy wool coat pushed past her in an effort to chase after a young girl in a yellow dress. Slung over his arm was the girl’s coat—something the child seemed hellbent to escape. He did not turn back to apologize. Carol was torn between a grimace and a smirk of sympathy. 

She wished she had a martini. Or a cigarette. Or both.

Releasing a breath, she resolved to delegate. Surely, one of these girls with their jaunty hats would know what kind of doll a young girl wanted. They served enough to know at any rate. She looked around for a free attendant, spotting a young woman just ahead. She had a cool sort of panic in her eyes—like she didn’t want to be here. She wouldn’t waste Carol’s time trying to charm her or sell unnecessary things. Excellent.

Carol started forward. She watched the woman as she walked—this tiny brunette who held things so delicately. Who stood and walked as if she were in a dream, certainly no employed as a temporary Frankenberg’s clerk. The shop girl bent down to move stock items around under the counter. Unnecessary actions. Things to keep herself busy. Good. 

Carol came to a stop beside the glass case, resting her gloves on the lightly smudged surface. The girl rose from her busy work. Carol smiled. The girl stared, flushed faintly.

“I wonder,” Carol offered. She let her voice roll out into the air, let it linger a little, “if you might help me find this doll for my daughter.” She pulled out the blue scrap of paper written across with the doll’s name. The young woman took the paper gingerly. Her eyes ran over the words. Carol tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Bright Betsy,” she said in recognition. “Oh, she cries.” She looked up at Carol, smiled a little, and looked down at the paper once more. “And wets herself.” Her eyes darted back up again. Carol’s lips turned slightly. She was sweet, this girl. Perhaps a little unsure. Undoubtedly embarrassed by herself, her own boldness. She held Carol’s eyes so long… longer, perhaps, than was necessary. Than was normal… She—

“But I’m afraid we’re all out of stock,” the girl said suddenly, handing back the piece of paper.

“Oh,” Carol murmured. She’d read wrong, then. She’d let herself get carried away again. Her head in the clouds. But this was not the time for that. She couldn’t moon over every woman who glanced her way… She wasn’t Abby, for Christ’s sake. 

Still, it was a pity about the doll. “Left it too long,” she pondered aloud. Her heart sank a little. She hated to disappoint Rindy. 

The girl hovered about behind the counter, turning to the array of lain out dolls within her area. “Well, we have plenty of other dolls. All kinds…”

Ah, yes. Right. She needed to buy something. And this girl needed to sell it. Carol forced her mind back to the glass display case and the many dolls lining the wall behind. Absently, she opened her purse searching for her cigarette case. “Right,” she sighed. She pulled a cigarette out of the small felt loop of the case. “What was your favorite doll when you were four?” 

“Me?” The girl looked shocked. Put on the spot. “Oh, I never—not many, to be honest.”

Carol smirked. She held the cigarette between her lips as her hands found her lighter. Somehow this news did not surprise her.

“I’m sorry.” Carol looked up at the words. “You’re not allowed to smoke on the sales floor.”

The girl’s voice was gentle, apologetic almost. Even so, Carol felt a wave of heat run across the back of her neck. She hadn’t realized—of course, of course she couldn’t smoke. She looked down at her hands, at the lighter clutched there, the cigarette case laying on the counter. What had she been thinking? She shook her head a fraction of an inch, “Of all—” She breathed. Gently removed the cigarette from her lips. A trace of lipstick clung to the edge of the stick. It seemed to scream out at her: _foolish_. Her heartbeat cantered forward, picking up speed. 

She looked up at the girl standing patiently before her. She gripped her handbag. Smiled stiffly. Breathed. “Forgive me. Shopping makes me nervous.”

The girl’s face immediately blossomed with a smile—warm, lovely, bright. She was really quite pretty. “That’s alright,” she offered. “Working here makes me nervous.”

An airy laugh escaped Carol’s lips, and she relaxed a little. “You’re very kind.”

The girl positively glowed under the praise. Carol’s eyes creased slightly. She pressed her lips together, and pulled out of her bag a small photograph. Looking at it made her heart ache. Rindy. She turned the picture and leaned forward over the counter, inviting the store clerk to look. “Here she is.”

The girl’s fingers ghosted around the edge of the picture, barely touching it. “Oh,” she breathed out. “She looks like you. Around the eyes.”

Carol suddenly felt a little warm. She could hardly restrain the smile that grew on her face. “You think so?” She looked back down at the picture of Rindy. 

Rindy was such a good girl. The divorce was hard on her—surely, it was. But she seemed to be all right. It was for the best. It had to be. Carol wasn’t… well, neither of them were happy. Rindy had to know that. They kept things from her, but she had to know that. Carol felt a tug in her stomach, a little lurch of guilt. She often wondered if she was being selfish. The divorce. If Rindy was simply an excuse for her to get out of a mistake, she never should have made in the first place. 

She hummed slightly to herself and ran her fingers around the photograph. “What did you want, when you were this age?” she asked suddenly. She wasn’t entirely sure what had gotten into her, why she wanted to know, but she smiled up at the shop girl.

“A train set.” Two dimples appeared. Carol released a little breath. 

“Really?”

The young woman nodded. She was sweet. So very young, though. 

“Do you know much about train sets?” Carol found herself asking.

Why did she need to know this? Why was she lingering here, talking with this woman? She should just pick a doll, any one, and be on her way. Leave this place for a good, strong drink.

But then the girl was grinning, her energy palpable, and Carol was enrapt. “I do actually.” Her eyes looked across the sales floor. “And we just got a new model in last week. It’s hand-built with hand-painted cars.” Carol’s smile faltered a little. Oh. She forced it still. It was as if the circuitry that had pulled her to the young woman had shut down, that someone somewhere had pulled back the curtain to remind her that she was in the middle of a store, in the middle of the Christmas rush, and this woman was supposed to sell her toys. She was doing her job, not pouring out her heart. Right. “It’s a limited edition of 5,000! You might have seen it… on the way in by the elevators…” 

Oh. Carol glanced up at the girl. A faint blush had crept into her cheeks. Well. 

She turned her head to look back toward the elevators, toward the train set. It was right around where she had paused upon entering the floor. 

“I’d show you but I’m sort of confined to this desk.”

Carol turned back as the girl frowned down at the glass case between them. “Do you ship?”

The girl looked up, locked eyes with her. Energy reignited. “Special delivery. You could have it in two or three days.” 

Carol nodded slowly. That would do. Rindy would like that. Probably. Who knows.

“They’d even assemble it for you.”

Carol’s lips quirked. She had to admit that she enjoyed the young woman’s nerve, pressing, offering.

“Well,” she let the “-ell” draw out. “That’s that.” She picked up her items from the counter, replacing them into her purse. “Sold,” her eyebrows punctuated her words.

The girl just stared, stunned. 

Her eyes were so impossibly wide. Carol couldn’t help but wonder if she herself had ever really been so young, so eager, so open. She knew she had been, surely. But in the light of everything, standing here in front of this woman, such a thing seemed impossible. 

The girl was looking at her intensely. Looking at her in a way that swept away Carol’s doubts. She’d read the encounter correctly.

Carol let the moment linger for a beat longer than she should have—partly out of amusement, partly out of surprise. Then, snapping her purse shut, she tilted her head. “Shall I pay now?” She let laughter run along the edges of the question. 

The girl snapped back into being. She glued her eyes to the glass, shuffling papers behind the counter, grabbing a triplicate notepad, stammering, “Oh, yes, of course, um—” 

She stammered, and Carol suppressed a grin. Perhaps one _could_ have fun shopping. Who knew? Carol ran her hand through her hair again. She was quite enjoying herself now. 

The girl’s eyes darted up again. “I need your account details and your shipping address.” 

“Of course,” Carol murmured. She bent over the paper, writing clearly, slowly. Even with her eyes focused on her writing, she could feel the shop clerk’s attention on her hands, her face, her name unfolding in curls and strokes… 

“I love Christmas,” Carol said—to say anything, really. Some small part of her did not want to let go of this moment. Wanted to extend it, hold onto it. “Wrapping presents and all that. And somehow, you wind up overcooking the turkey anyway…” Her neck felt hot again. Stupid. What a stupid, bland thing to say. Overcooking turkey. Who the hell cared about an overcooked turkey? Certainly not this girl with her bright smile and love of train sets. Carol grit her teeth, fixed her smile, and looked up. “Done.”

The girl accepted the form, checking over the information. 

It was indeed done. This whole encounter was nearly done. Soon, the transaction would be completed, and Carol would have no reason left to linger. But, she wanted to. She wanted very much to throw back her head, laugh, and ask the young woman when her shift ended. But, that was a fantasy. She couldn’t exactly invite a shop clerk, a total stranger, out for a drink. 

She took a breath to calm her nerves. “Where’d you learn so much about train sets?” There. That was… something.

The girl looked up, “Oh, I read.” She smiled again, shrugged. “Too much probably.” And she ripped off the receipt of purchase, offering it to Carol. 

Well. That was that, wasn’t it? 

“It’s refreshing,” Carol assured her, taking the slip of paper. “Thank you.” She put the receipt into her handbag and reclosed the clasps. 

Then, she sighed. There was nothing left to say, really. Except:

“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, turning from the counter.

The girl quickly echoed her, and Carol began to walk away.

How curious. What a strange day, a strange encounter. She’d known the way the girl had looked at her—recognized it. She knew that she was… interested. Whether the girl knew it yet or not. She could have pressed it, pushed to see how far the interaction might have gone… But, then, perhaps it was too soon. 

She paused in her walk toward the elevators, glanced slowly back toward the counter where—as sure as day—the young woman stood watching her recede. Carol smiled again. Sweet thing. She looked entirely bewildered. Carol could have laughed. 

Instead, struck giddy by the moment, she raised her hand to point at her head and whispered through a smirk, “I like the hat.”

A bouquet of roses could not have blushed so fiercely. 

Carol felt a warmth spread through her chest—at the attention, the fun, the risk, the whole of it. Her lips twitching, she turned back again and continued out, off the floor, down the elevators, and out into the bustling streets of New York City.

…

It was quite some time before she noticed the wind nipping at her hands, before she searched her pockets, her purse, to find her gloves missing. Where had they got to? She couldn’t remember when she’d held them last. Searching through her memory yielded only the brief image of two dimples appearing on the young woman’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! It has been a long while, but I thought I'd whip up this little fic-let for you all. I've just finished writing a graduate thesis, so consider this a celebratory meet-cute.


End file.
